


Where Angels Fear to Tread

by hbrooks



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Hope you like, M/M, first fallout 4 fic for me, its gay af, other characters show up obliquely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9294416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hbrooks/pseuds/hbrooks
Summary: Thank you for reading! This is my first Fallout 4 fic—might write more. Find me on tumblr as hbrooks01





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dianekepler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dianekepler/gifts).



Maxson set down the old coffee mug he hadn’t be able to part with. Danse had given it to him all those years ago after the first few months back in the Capital. Now as Elder he could have a pristine one, but this had value. He had hoped Danse would notice it.

“I have a mission for you, Paladin,” Maxson said after a moment. He hoped this would work. “Unfortunately, it requires stealth, so you will need to leave your power armor here.”

Danse looked uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot. “Sir?”

Maxson’s face was grim. “We have made contact with a local caravan trader. She will escort you to Goodneighbor tonight. There you will meet someone at the Rexford Hotel with crucial information at 0100 hours.”

“Wouldn’t a scribe be better suited to this?” Danse made that face Maxson always disliked. Especially when he was going to be stubborn.

“You know the Commonwealth the most.” Maxson continued before Danse could stall again. “Scribe Haylen is assigned elsewhere in a sensitive mission. And Knight Rhys is not . . . shall we say discreet? I trust you to take care of this.”

“Very well, sir.” Danse saluted and headed out.

Maxson sighed, watching him leave. Goodneighbor was not perfect for this location, but the Brotherhood was needed in the Commonwealth. All the wastelands were . . . filthy, but this one was the worst he’d seen. Ghouls everywhere, some pre-war if rumors were true, some machines masquerading as people, raiders running around killing everyone. Disorderly chaos and he hated it. It needed cleansing, and the Brotherhood would see to that. Maxson would see to that.

***

Danse stepped out of his power armor, something he only did when sleeping at base. Even if he was on the Prydwyn itself, he always wore the armor. And when sleeping in the wasteland (though it was damn uncomfortable). He wiped a bit of wasteland off the armor. This armor had saved his ass more times than he could count. Though he was was tired, he dare not lay down at all.

He felt naked in the cool night air with just his fatigues. But it’d be safe enough here at the airport. After all, this was as secure a location as the Brotherhood could make it. With vertibirds making occasional sweeps and the ground patrols, there was not much to worry about.

Danse had thought the call might be more _personal_ , but no, just a mission. He had noticed the coffee cup Maxson was using and smiled to himself. At least he had kept that. Perhaps this was another test.

He looked up at the cloudless sky, the stars above twinkling. Though it had been months, it had felt like years to hear no word from Maxson—save stoic, standard reports and orders. Danse remembered the day that had sent him here to the Commonwealth. Everyone had thought it an honor, but Danse had never seen it that way. It was a punishment.

Punishment for his quiet love of Maxson. Punishment for Maxson returning that ardor. Punishment for their relationship. He knew it had hurt Maxson just as much as it had hurt him. But here Maxson was, in the Commonwealth to cleanse the land with fire, if need be. _Maybe, even, to rescue me._

Danse had been afraid he’d never see Maxson again, see that rugged face, hold those calloused hands in his own, share warmth, urgency, breath, even. For now, just seeing him was enough. It would have to be.

He shivered. It was time. Maxson was unforgiving.

Danse slipped out the backdoor of the airport, locked it behind him and stayed to the shadows as he rounded around to the road—his orders were clear. After a few minutes, he knew he’d be clear of the patrols—after all, he had ordered the rounds in the first place. Then the real danger started.

“Hiya,” a voice said.

Startled, Danse spun around. “Carla,” he said, catching his breath.

“Jumpy are we? You ready?” She wore the same worn blue shirt she always wore, and the same mischievous expression. She’d saved them at the Cambridge Station with food supplies a few times.

Danse nodded.

“Good. Don’t wanna be late.” She smirked and lit a cigarette. “Well, I’m glad for the pay and the free bodyguard.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he said gravely.

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved him off. “Let’s go.”

She tapped her brahmin and headed down the road at a quick pace. Danse stuck close. Carla said little, but occasionally strayed from the road to pick up glass, ashtrays, anything she could get her hands on that could hold value. He looked signs of ghouls, anything that smacked of pale skin glistening in the moonlight. But it was quiet.

He listened for super mutants, for deathclaws, but tonight the wasteland was still, save a breeze off the ocean. It was unsettling in its hush. Did beasts even need to sleep?

Soon they came to clusters of hollow buildings, and moved closer to the heart of what used to be Boston. The buildings grew taller and shifted from wood structures to metal. The streets narrowed from their broad suburb streets. Carla stopped, resting her hand on the brahmin.

“Gotta be real quiet,” she whispered, thumbing to her right. “Super mutants.”

Danse nodded, loosening his gun. He wasn’t gonna become stew for some overgrown green freak. Carla glared at him, and he let his hand fall to his side. She motioned him to continue on.

Then he heard it. Raucous laughter, deep, throaty and _inhuman_. He shuddered. It came from around the corner. Danse kept one eye on the road ahead and one heading toward those awful sounds

“Tasty!” he heard. A loud crunch like bones breaking. “Need more innards.”

He shuddered to think of the poor soul they were now devouring. But there was nothing he could do. Not now at least. Carla continued forward, her brahmin quiet as it stepped down the littered road as if it knew the stakes. Soon, they came to a make-shift fence with neon signs. _Must be close then._

Carla sighed as they moved out of earshot of the super mutants, but she kept her voice quiet. “Don’t say nothing. Let me do the talking.”

He nodded. She was the expert.

She smirked again. “Oh were I young again.”

Goodneighbor. She knocked on the door in a specific pattern. The door opened and she walked in, followed by the brahmin and then Danse himself.

“Got you a new boyfriend, Carla?” The guard wore a haphazard arrangement of armor, a pipe rifle in hand.

“Keep your shirt on,” she laughed. “Mutants out lately.” She said nothing more, and headed over to market. Danse followed close.

“Rexford’s that way,” she said when she’d reached Kill or Be Killed. “Gotta drop off the merch.”

Danse nodded, trying not to stare at the Assaultron heading over to Carla.

“Can’t miss it.” She blew him a kiss, then turned to talk to the machine. 

He walked down the dark streets, people sleeping on old mattresses and in bedrolls that had seen better days. Ghouls walked among the few who were awake, some speaking in private. There must be synths and spies for the railroad here too. This place gave him the creeps. 

True to her word, there was no way he could miss the Rexford—especially with the neon sign bearing the name. He headed over, trying to appear confident. He was unsure of the time, but it must have be close or just past the allotted time. It felt like he’d been on the road for hours and hours though it couldn’t have been that long.

The place was shabby, just short of falling apart. But he entered the front door, feeling like too many eyes were watching him. Some synth sat at the bar wearing a ridiculous trench coat and hat, smoking a cigarette—he could tell by the metallic hand. He was talking to some bald guy with sunglasses over a glass of what appeared to be whiskey. Though, truth be told, it could be almost anything.

Nervous, he headed to the desk where a woman was standing, looking bored. “Here for the night?” 

Danse nodded. “Meeting a friend. Should be here already.”

She snorted. “Yeah, alright. Third floor.” 

He thanked her and headed up the stairs. He wondered how the wood had stayed intact for so long. The whole place was just . . . wrong. But he soldiered on. For the first time, he wondered if it were right to be here.

He found the one room with door closed, and knocked lightly. “Come in,” a familiar voice said. Danse headed in, then closed the door behind him.

Maxson sat in the only chair in the room and motioned for Danse to sit on the bed. Danse sat down carefully. One could never been careful testing out pre-war furniture. The room was fairly large, with a desk and chair, and lighting, surprisingly enough. There was a large bed in one corner.

“Why are you here, sir?” Danse asked. 

Maxson looked uncomfortable, but otherwise alright. Danse certainly felt uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” Maxson blurted out. “This was the only place that would offer privacy.”

Goodneighbor was reputed to be the scum of the commonwealth, but open to anything. _Secrets find themselves in Goodnieghbor._

“No, I’m sorry,” Danse said.

Maxson looked sad. “You shouldn’t be, Danse. I should not have sent you away. I should not have put you in such danger as I did. I should be the one sorry. And I am. I missed you.”

“Sir.”

Maxson smiled weakly. “You may call me Arthur like you did before.”

“Arthur,” Danse said, the word like new on his tongue. “Your very name is poetry.”

Maxson chuckled. “You still flatter me after all this time.”

“There is no other way. “ Danse sighed. “You are everything..”

Maxson stood up and paced the floor. “No, Danse. You are my world.” He turned around and kneeled on the floor. “I’m sorry for hurting you, for putting you in danger. You don’t know how much I missed you. How I wished to write letters declaring the forbidden.”

“For me?” Danse sat back, bewildered.

Maxson nodded. “Since you’ve been here, and I in the capital, I’ve had too much time to think, too much time away. I was a fool.” Maxson ran his hands up Danse’s arms. Danse shivered at the touch. It felt so good. “I missed you, daily. I was furious. I was angry, yes, but I realized I loved you more than anything. Moreso, even, than the Brotherhood itself.”

Danse paused. “The Brotherhood itself?” Danse wanted to slap himself for his responses, but this was all so much of a shock. It had been clear when he’d been sent from the Capital, that Maxson wanted nothing to do with him.

Maxson waved it away. “The Brotherhood gives me purpose, a direction. But without you, why bother with any of it? Why bother to make a better world when the world is a true wasteland without you.”

“I . . .”

“Danse.” Maxson stood, his tall frame blocking any light from the lamp.

“I feel I have failed you,” Danse said, turning away from the man in front of him. “I almost got you killed. Myself? I mean nothing without you. I’m nothing without you.”

Maxson headed toward the far wall, raising his hand as if to strike the wood—but he didn’t. “You’re something without me. Don’t you see?”

“Isn’t that why you sent me away in the first place? Didn’t you say you wanted to never see me again?”

“Yes.” Maxson, defeated for a moment, slumped back in the chair. “Yes. It is why I sent you away. In punishing you, I punished myself. My Paladin, I ached for you every day you were gone. Every single day.”

“I lived because I could not let you down. I lived because I was ashamed.” Danse stood up and took Maxson’s hands. “Even though we had all odds against us, I held the faintest of hopes, misguided, that you would come for me.”

“And here I am.”

“Here you are.” Danse raised Maxson’s hand and kissed it gently. “Arthur back with me.”

Maxson closed his eyes. “So romantic.”

“I can’t help it,” Danse said, slowly closing the distance between them. “You turn me into such a sap.” He let his hands roam up Maxson’s arms, slowly peeled away the coat he wore to expose his shoulders. Let his mouth taste the heat from Maxson’s neck, the sweet tang of skin, gently cleaned. Danse pulled down the shirt collar.

“You do such sinful things, Paladin.” Maxson open his eyes, and they bore into Danse. Intense, passionate, fiery. “And I cannot say no.”

“Good.” Danse grinned. He knew what the Elder liked. Methodical, slow, Danse unzipped his own fatigues, unwrapping layer after layer, to expose sun-tanned skin, dark in the light. Soon he stood naked in front of Maxson. “I am yours.”

Maxson’s eyes focused on his face, longing etched there like in stone. Like those statues from so long ago. Maxson rose to his feet, his hands inches away from Danse’s flesh. “I am all yours.” Hastily, he discarded his clothes. No matter. Danse would exact payment for that speed.

He clicked his tongue and stepped forward to stand chest to chest with the man he loved. He kissed Maxson. Heat burst in his mouth. Maxson pulled them together, and Danse gripped tightly back. He explored Maxson’s mouth with his tongue, too eager even for himself. He wanted to savor every moment, but he couldn’t control himself. He licked and bit gently. Maxson, just as eager, gave and took in equal measure until the both gasped for air. Danse rested his head on Maxson’s shoulder, then gently took skin into his mouth, sucking and biting.

“Danse, I thought I told you not to leave marks.”

Letting go, Danse spoke. “What is one more bruise on the Elder?”

“Nothing.”

“Even if we never meet like this again, I want you to remember me.”

“How can I forget?” Maxson said gently. “Come.” He pulled Danse to the bed. Danse let himself be lead, as he had these past years, and straddled the younger man.

“I will never let you—” Danse began to say.

But Maxson kissed him hard, and he broke. Danse’s body shivered involuntarily and he kissed hard back. This. This was the passion, the burning that he’d missed. The fiery clack of teeth and the war of tongue against against tongue. The digging of fingers into flesh to create handholds that refused to stay. Danse relished in the physicality, the fight, the very pain of the pleasure. He kissed Maxson as hard and fought to reclaim what had been his so long ago.

Years seemed to pass in that kiss. But eventually it faded. Danse drew deep breathes, and gazed at the man under him. Maxson was flushed, as he imagined he was as well. A reunion indeed. Maxson grinned.

“Best way to get you to stop thinking aloud.”

Danse laughed. “Yes, yes it is. I’ve got your method here.” He moved down Maxson’s legs until the whole of his body was laid out bare. Danse bent to suck Maxson dry. After all, he knew while Maxson enjoyed such pleasure, he wouldn’t allow himself to finish. Danse enjoyed pushing him as far as possible.

Maxson groaned loudly. Encouraged, Danse worked hard, swallowing as much of his Elder as he could, bobbing up and down, building up as much speed as he dare. After a few moment, Maxson forcefully pushed Danse off, and Danse grinned.

“You know I don’t like it when you do that to me,” Maxson said, his voice low and raw.

“And yet, you always allow me near enough to do as I please.”

“Fair point.” Maxson arched his eyebrow, then shifted on the bed, but kept his eyes on Danse. “Now, since you think you can do as you please, why don’t you just _take_ what is here?”

 _Does this mean he’s sorry at all?_ They’d never agreed to stick to one position anyway, but Maxson rarely asked the pleasuring, instead deferring to pleasure Danse instead. Perhaps it did. Beside, Danse did enjoy . . . .

“Stop thinking already.” Maxson used his legs to pulled Danse closer. “And just take what is offered. And don’t bother with fingers this time.”

There was no arguing with the Elder. Danse leaned down and kissed Maxson, gentler than before, more delicate, more sensual. He shifted, holding himself just so and spit several times and slowly pushed against Maxson’s hole ever so slowly. Danse focused on Maxson’s face, his muscles tensing and relaxing: artistry before him. He folded over and kissed Maxson as he continued the slow push inside and felt Maxson relax around him and he surrendered to the passion.

He broke off the kiss, and slowly retreated and spit on himself a few more times and repeated the motions, returning to that glorious mouth. Maxson relaxed further, and Danse, feeling more confident, begining to slide in and out. Maxson groaned and shifted, but Danse moved with him, keeping a slow and steady rhythm. He had to slow and reapply spit, with plenty courtesy of Maxson himself, and kept going. It wasn’t long until Maxson was writhing with pleasure, groaning for more. Danse grinned and knew where this was heading.

Sure enough, Maxson began pushing himself furiously against Danse, and Danse relented and let himself be used. Unable to move as he wished, Maxson switched positions and laid on top of Danse and rode up and down while stroking himself. Danse let waves of pleasure roll over him, the world narrowing to his dick and the sensations cascading through his body. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, then opened them to focus on Maxson. His head was thrown back, noises escaping his throat, and soon, ropes of fluid rained on Danse’s chest and abs, and Danse himself shuddered and came inside Maxson, his dick twitching.

He slowly became aware of the room, the hotel, the very place they were again. It had been worth it. Even if they were to be shot on the spot.

Danse came out with a plop and Maxson kissed him before flopping down next to him. The Elder was smiling. It had been a long while since Danse had seen that smile. They didn’t speak for moment, Danse catching his breath, his body still remembering the feeling of being inside Maxson, the weight, the pleasure. Slowly, their fluids dried.

“Better than I remembered,” Maxson whispered. He wrapped an arm around Danse for moment, snuggling closer. Danse sighed, content, and leet his arm engulf Maxson’s shoulder.

For a moment, everything was perfect.

***

Maxson left first, though he was always loath to leave. He had to get back to the airport before first light. Tomorrow was going to be rough. But it had been worth it. He tried not to smile as he snuck down to the hotel lobby.

Some synth sat there, a lit cigarette in his rusted hands, the leathery flesh missing in places, reading some long dead newspaper as if it were fresh. A ghoul, woman by her long hair sat next to an assaultron, both of them playing some game with caps. Maxson avoided staring and headed out the front door. He shivered.

Goodneighbor. He couldn’t believe that this was the safest place he could find. No one in the Brotherhood would be here. No one would believe that he, himself, was here.

It was still dark when he got outside, the stars out in full force. It was always beautiful to see them. Looked like he had maybe an hour or two to get back to the base. Luckily, being Elder had its perks.

As he reached the gates, he noticed a strange figure, dressed in ridiculous revolutionary regalia. Including the hat. The person turned. Of course, it was a ghoul. Maxson side stepped the man, but the ghoul was faster than Maxson and grabbed his arm.

“Whoa, whoa, just a minute of your time,” the man said. “Don’t you have a minute for the mayor of this great city?”

“Mayor?” Maxson asked. _Damn_.

“Of course,” the man said. “Name’s Hancock. Like I said, just a moment.” He pulled Maxson to the side, near the corner of the fence and the large brick building he’d seen when he first came in.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elder,” Hancock said, his voice low. “Yes, I know who you are. Don’t worry. Not like your boy’s’d believe me anyway. But, stay out of trouble in my town. And don’t fuck with my folk. Everyone’s got a right to be in Goodneighbor. But you fuck with us, and bang. We fuck with you. Capiche?”

“Yeah,” Maxson said.

“Good!” Hancock smiled, though his lips were not entirely there. It was rather disgusting. “Good. With that out of the way . . . if you’d like a better _arrangement_ , you let me know. I’m sure we could come to some sort of agreement. Don’t want the locals catching on too much do we, eh?”

“We will see,” Maxson said, though he doubted he would resort to dealing with such miscreants. “If I may?”

“Of course,” Hancock let him go, stepping aside. It was then Maxson noticed the two knives in his belt, and the pistol he was tucking in his belt.

Once outside of the city, as it were, Maxson found the hidden alley and scaled the ladder to the top. In moments, he was in one of prototype vertibirds Quinlan had commissioned for night surveys: quiet, fast, reliable. He was back at the airport in no time. And no one questioned where he had gone.

Throughout the day, he thought of Danse inside him, their passionate love. For now, the late-night rendezvouses would have to suffice. For they were the only thing keeping him going in the dark and troubled times.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first Fallout 4 fic—might write more. Find me on tumblr as hbrooks01


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